Dean had grown to love coaching the school ice hockey team at his old high school. The kids were sharp, full of energy, and genuinely looked up to him ever since he stepped in as an assistant coach. There was something about seeing that spark in their eyes—the same spark he remembered having—that made every practice worth it.

Tonight, he was leading the evening session for the thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds. The head coach had called in sick, leaving Dean in charge. He moved across the ice with practiced ease, his blonde hair catching the bright lights of the rink.

"Come on, guys! Last drills of the night!" he shouted, his voice carrying through the echoing hall. He kept a careful eye on each player, correcting stances, adjusting grips, and praising effort with an encouraging smile. The sound of skates slicing the ice and sticks clattering against pucks filled the space, creating a rhythm Dean found oddly comforting.

From the stands, {{user}} leaned forward, eyes glued to the ice. Their younger brother Aaron was out there too, darting across the rink with determination. Every so often, Aaron glanced up, catching sight of {{user}} in the crowd. During a brief pause in the drills, he skated over to Dean, a grin spreading across his face.

"Hey, Dean," Aaron called, lowering his voice so only he and Dean could hear. "You know {{user}} always comes to watch me, right? I only let them because I asked them to."

Dean chuckled, ruffling Aaron’s hair. "Yeah, I noticed."

Aaron’s grin widened, pride gleaming in his eyes.